“Mr. McManus,” called the man at the desk, “this young women wants to see you”
The short gentlemen turned about towards Carrie, and she rose and came forward.
“What can I do for you, miss?” he inquired, surveying her curiously.
“I want to know if I can get a position,” she inquired.
“As what?” he asked.
“Not as anything in particular,” she faltered.
“Have you ever had any experience in the wholesale dry goods business?” he questioned.
“No, sir,” she replied.
“Are you a stenographer or typewriter?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, we haven’t anything here,” he said. “We employ only experienced help.”
She began to step backward toward the door, when something about her plaintive face attracted him.
“Have you ever worked at anything before?” he inquired.
“No, sir,” she said.
“Well, now, it’s hardly possible that you would get anything to do in a wholesale house of this kind. Have you tried the department stores?”
She acknowledged that she had not.
“Well, if I were you,” he said, looking at her rather genially, “I would try the department stores. They often need young women as clerks.”
“Thank you,” she said, her whole nature relieved by this spark of friendly interest.
“Yes,” he said, as she moved toward the door, “you try the department stores,” and off he went.
At the time the department store was in its earliest form of successful operation, and there were not many The first three in the United States, established about 1884, were in Chicago. Carrie was familiar with the names of several through the advertisements in the “Daily News,” and now proceeded to seek them. The words of Mr. McManus had somehow managed to restore her courage, which had fallen low, and she dared to hope that this new line would offer her something. Sometime she spent in wandering up and down, thinking to encounter the buildings by chance, so readily is the mind, bent upon prosecuting a hard but needful errand, eased by that self-deception which the semblance of search, without the reality, gives. At last she inquired of a police officer, and was directed to proceed “two blocks up,” where she would find “The Fair.”
On the second floor were the managerial offices, to which, after some inquiry, she was now directed. There she found other girls ahead of her, applicants like herself. but with more of that self-satisfied and independent air which experience of the city lends; girls who scrutinized her in a painful manner. After a wait of perhaps three quarters of an hour, she was called in turn.
“Now,” said a sharp, quick-mannered Jew, who was sitting at a roll-top desk near the windows, “have you even worked in any other store?”
“No, sir,” said Carrie.
“Oh, you haven’t,” he said, eyeing her keenly.
“No, sir,” she replied.
“Well, we prefer young women just now with some experience. I guess we can’t use you.”
Carrie stood waiting a moment, hardly certain whether the interview had terminated.
“Don’t wait!” he exclaimed. “Remember we are very busy here.”
Carrie began to move quickly to the door.
“Hold on,” he said, calling her back. “Give me your name and address. We want girls occasionally.”
When she had gotten safely into the street, she could scarcely restrain the tears. It was not so much the particular rebuff which she had just experienced, but the whole abashing trend of the day. She was tried and nervous. She abandoned the thought of appealing to the other department stores and now wandered on, feeling a certain safety and relief in mingling with the crowd.
In her indifferent wandering she turned into Jackson Street, nor far from the river, and was keeping her way along the south side of that imposing thoroughfare, when a piece of wrapping paper, written on with marking ink and tacked up on the door, attracted her attention. It read, “Girls wanted wrappers & stitchers”. She hesitated a moment, then entered.
The firm of Speigelheim & Co, makers of boys’ caps, occupied one floor of the building, fifty feet in width and some eighty feet in depth. It was a place rather dingily lighted, the darkest portions having incandescent lights, filled with machines and work benches. At the latter labored quite a company of girls and some men. The former were drabby-looking creatures, stained in face with oil and dust, clad in thin, shapeless, cotton dresses and shod with more or less worn shoes.
Carrie looked about her, very much disturbed and quite sure that she did not want to work here. Aside from making her uncomfortable by sidelong glances, no one paid her the least attention. She waited until the whole department was aware of her presence. Then some word was sent around, and a foreman, in an apron and shirt sleeves, the latter rolled up to his shoulders, approached.
“Do you want to see me?” he asked.
“Do you need any help?” said Carrie, already learning directness of address.
“Do you know how to stitch caps?” he returned.
“No, sir,” she replied.
“Have you ever had any experience at this kind of work?” he inquired.
She answered that she had not.
“Well,” said the foreman, scratching his ear meditatively, “we do need a stitcher. We like experienced help, though. We’ve hardly got time to break people in.” He paused and looked away out of the window. “We might, though, put you at finishing,” he concluded reflectively.
“How much do you pay a week?” ventured Carrie, emboldened by a certain softness in the man’s manner and his simplicity of address.
“Three and a half,” he answered.
“Oh,” she was about to exclaim, but checked herself and allowed her thoughts to die without expression.
“We’re not exactly in need of anybody,” he went on vaguely, looking her over as one would a package. “You can come on Monday morning, though,” he added, “and I’ll put you to work.”
“Thank you,” said Carrie weakly.
“If you come, bring an apron,” he added.
He walked away and left her standing by the elevator, never so much as inquiring her name[13].
This place was grimy and low, the girls were careless and hardened. They must be bad-minded and hearted, she imagined. Still, a place had been offered her. Surely Chicago was not so bad if she could find one place in one day. She might find another and better later.
Her subsequent experiences were not of a reassuring nature, however. From all the more pleasing or imposing places she was turned away abruptly with the most chilling formality. In other where she applied only the experienced were required. She met with painful rebuffs, the most trying of which had been in a manufacturing cloak house, where she had gone to the fourth floor to inquire.
“No, no,” said foreman, a rough, heavily built individual, who looked after a miserably lighted workshop, “we don’t want any one. Don’t come here.”
With the wane of the afternoon went her hopes, her courage, and her strength. Sick at heart and in body, she turned to the west, the direction of Minie’s flat, which she had now fixed in mind, and begat that wearisome, baffled retreat makes. In passing through Fifth Avenue, south towards Van Buren Street, where she intended to take a car, she passed the door of a large wholesale shoe house, through the plate-grass window of which she could see a